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Curse the Shopkeeperby lute wa lutengano My hate/love relationship with music began some decades back, actually when I was still five or so years old. This relationship has a lot to do with my late father. When I was in primary school my father used to wake us (me and my brothers) up in the morning by serenading us with his saxophone tunes. He would simply wake up around 5 in the morning and with his saxophone go outside and blow it like it was in a concert hall. Our mother would then rush into our rooms and wake us up by force. I say by force because failure to wake up would invite a bucketful of cold water being poured over you in bed. To this date, whenever I hear some saxophone tunes, my mind recalls the several buckets of cold water which landed on my tiny body and jolted me from my sleep. Perhaps that is why I have always enjoyed a cold shower in the morning in whatever weather. Back to my family: Come evening, and, after dinner we all - my father, mother, brothers and sisters - would sit around the table and my father suddenly transformed himself into the family choir master. He would teach us to sing and mostly by force. Initially I did not like the sessions. But when we soon became the much sought after (family) choir in the area, I began to like, if not love, music. From then on my life became intertwined with music. I soon became the leader of my school brass band, sang in the school choir and was a leader in what we then used to call crooning groups. When I joined secondary school in mid-60s some new musical opportunities landed on my lap. These included learning how to play the piano and the electric guitar. I joined the then Orchestra Mkwawa Jazz Band which used to play some Congolese inspired numbers. I also joined the second band, The Midnight Movers, which used to play some Afro-American inspired soul music. This was the James Brown and Aretha Franklin Soul Train type of music. The two bands used to play together during the sessions. We used to have boogie sessions in the afternoon for teenagers and real music in the evening for adults. The entrance fees we charged went on to boost funds for the then ruling party, TANU Youth League branch at the school. One Saturday a shopkeeper from my village came to town to collect merchandise. My father gave him some items for me. When he came to school and delivered them I invited him to attend our music session that afternoon and evening. The shopkeeper came and I processed his complementary cover charge and even offered him one drink. When we began playing the music, I could see that he was like, what the Americans would call, wowed! I did not mind about the incident until a few weeks later. One Monday morning as we were in class, a message was delivered that the Headmaster wanted to immediately see me. I was shocked. What had I done wrong? I wondered. I meekly walked into the Headmaster’s office only to come face to face with my father. Yes my father! My mind raced. Why is he here? Has some relative passed away at home? But if so they could have just sent me a message and my father would not be here. "Here is your son. He was in class and actually he is one of the brightest in class. True he plays music. But that is one of the extramural activities the school encourages students to pursue", the Headmaster told my father. It was then that I asked what was going on. The Headmaster explained that my father had received information from some village shopkeeper that I had quit school and was playing music in town. He had traveled all the way from home, some 500 kilometers away, to come and check on this information and take appropriate action. I was speechless. My father was at last relieved, and I know it
because he left me some petty cash. That was not his normal style. But deep
inside me I cursed the shopkeeper.
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